"Why, what the devil would you have had me do!—make myself scarce, eh? You should have tipped me the wink. Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but I never saw one like Jack Sheppard. More,’ he said, ‘but I’m told it’s the most amusing thing in London at the present time. Just speak the word," he added, drawing the knife significantly across his throat, "and I'll put it out of his power to do the same by your second. Sheppard, with a look, the wildness of which greatly alarmed her companion. She was in ill trim for walking, but somehow or other she made her way as far as the Champs Elysées, and sank down upon an empty seat.
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